


but life is for living and I don't want to live it alone

by Dabberdees



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Downward Spiral, Gen, Grief, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22409959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dabberdees/pseuds/Dabberdees
Summary: “No, no, no-” His hands clench, pain flares, but he disregards and presses them against his eyes, head shaking. “Tell me he’s alright, Doctor, tell me he's in another room, anything-”“I can’t, Graham.”"Please."
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Graham O'Brien, Yasmin Khan & Graham O'Brien
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	but life is for living and I don't want to live it alone

**Author's Note:**

> look-
> 
> i can explain, okay no i can't

It was quick. A flash of light. Burning, skin on fire. And then nothing but freefall before slamming back against something hard, the wind knocked completely out of him. He falls to the floor like a ragdoll when mere moments ago he was walking and talking, looking around the plaza in wonder with family.

His eyes close and he slips under for a moment, knocked out, but alive. Screams sound out through the square above, stirring him back into hell.

But now his ears are ringing now, and his eyes are stuck staring into brightness no matter how quickly he tries to blink it away. His skin is screaming, pinpricks of pain all over his body. His hands grab at the ground, trying to push himself up only to stop when he feels weight pressing down upon his back, forcing him against the earth.

So that explains why it’s a struggle to breathe, something is pressing down, but that doesn’t explain why it stings and hurts. Why smoke and the smell of barbeque tears through his throat and sticks in his nose. The weight on his back is constricting, and he feels light-headed. Maybe from the lack of oxygen or from when his head was knocked back against whatever he hit.

He calls out while hands try to push the weight off. Something has happened, something terrible-

There are muffled voices above him now. The owners of them grab at his body, and he cries out through clenched teeth, eyes screwing shut again through the pain, or because he doesn’t want to see the brightness anymore. He’s not sure. Not really.

The pressure on his chest vanishes, and he sucks in lungfuls of air as he's turned over

There is a short word above him, but it's muffled. His eyes open and he sees blurred figures above, perhaps blonde hair and dark curls. Maybe. The brightness is fading now.

Whoever they are, they're reassuring. Comforting, and- His brows furrow together-

Something is missing from them though, something- something- If only he could focus, or try to-

The woman with blond speaks again, mouth moving quickly, but he can't hear her yet, ears taking their time to clear. It feels like he’s underwater, vison still blurred and hearing muffled, but getting better. If only he knew what happened _exactly_.

"I need help, here," She yells, and he picks that up through the thrum in his ears.

There's more movement above, people kneeling down next to him. “You need to move."

“Doctor,” The dark hair woman, younger, face covered in dust and debris. “We still need to find Ryan; they were next to each other.”

Ryan. Ryan. Ryan- Why does the word sound familiar?

"Get him to a hospital," The blonde woman orders before focusing down to him. "Graham, we'll find Ryan, I promise you, we'll find him."

The moment she uses his name, it clicks into place. The thing he felt missing. They were a person. “Ryan,” He mutters, worry blossoming in his chest as he watches her run from him. “Where’s Ryan?”

“You need-” 

“Where’s Ryan?” Graham demands again, finding the last bit of his strength to stare at the people above him. All strangers. Unknown. “Where is he?”

“You’re injured, and you need help,” The stranger says back. “Your friends will find him, but you need help first.”

He stares at the man, mouth repeating the name Ryan like a mantra, but his focus on them wanes, consciousness slipping through his stinging fingers quickly. His damaged body welcomes it.

But he doesn’t.

Not when he needs to know that his boy is safe.

-

There are voices around him. No longer muffled, all clear, but what they’re saying is confusing. His head kills and throbs.

_‘Blood-type?’_

_‘We don’t know it-’_

_‘The two he was with, what about them, do they?_

_‘Asked, but they’re in shock. They lost someone.”_

His brows furrow together, and he groans.

_‘Well, we don’t have time to wait, go with O negative. It’s the standard to use in situations like these.’_

Why do they need to know? He opens his eyes and looks around. There’s no one recognisable. The blonde hair and dark curls from before have vanished and in their place are unknown faces again. They're stressed and tired, dark circles under their eyes.

“Where-”

“He’s awake,” One of the voices speaks, and they swim in his vision. “Graham, it’s important, do you know your blood group?”

Graham. His eyes screw shut. That name, it should have-

Graham opens his eyes again, lucidity coming briefly and he stares up at the woman, watches her lined face. “What happened?”

“It’s not important,” She soothes. “Do you know your blood type?”

“Blood type?”

“Yes, Graham, do you know it?”

“Why do-” Graham murmurs, head falling back against something soft. “A- A- something.” He mumbles. “A something-”

But he’s drifting again, the edges of his vision blurring. Something is missing from before, something that he needed to find, but sleep sounds good right about now.

And he slips away again.

-

The next time Graham stirs awake, eyes blinking. It’s to the sound of a machine beeping in rhythm to his right. It’s soft, and it’s aggravating. 

Beep, pause, beep.

Repeating.

 _Constant_.

“Doctor-” Someone says, but all Graham can focus on is the sudden realised discomfort in his throat. “He’s awake.”

The blonde hair appears again, this time the owner of it less blurry and Graham can finally focus on her face. Her green eyes, ringed with darkness and red staring down at him. He tries to speak, tries to say her name, but he can’t.

“Relax, Graham.”

Graham frowns, and he swallows hard or tries to. Anything to try and clear whatever it is that’s stuck in his throat, but he can’t. He looks around and catches something attached to his face. Tubes and cables. Feels them on his cheeks, holding something in place.

“You’re in safe hands,” The Doctor says, voice trying to remain strong, but hitching towards the end. “Just rest.”

Graham raises a hand to his face, head shaking as he tries to figure out what the object is and why it’s there. He flicks his eyes to the Doctor and tries to speak again. The sound coming out in a garbled mess of words. He wants it out; whatever it is in his throat, he wants it gone.

The beeping increases. Heart thumping in panic, mechanical breathing overriding his own panicked ones-

“Graham,” The Doctor speaks. “Please-”

Graham can feel his fear rising as his confusion clears, blood pushing its way through his body. Pain becomes known and he aches. Hard to pinpoint which hurts more-

“You need to relax,” The Doctor murmurs as she reaches her hands out to his head.

Graham focuses on her, brows knitting together when she touches the side of his head. He wants to ask what happened, why he’s here but the tube stops him, and soon enough he finds himself slipping once more. He fights it, tries his hardest to fight against the thought in his head.

' _Sleep.'_

“I’m sorry, Graham.”

Are the final words he hears before he sleeps.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save him.”

-

Graham opens his eyes once again, mind foggy and throat sore. He stares at the ceiling and breathes in the filtered air. It’s sterile and something he knows all too well.

So that means he’s in a hospital and the thought of that makes it all come crashing back to him quite quickly. Something must’ve happened. He tries to sit up only to find he can’t. His body protests the movement and forces him to stay down.

“Graham, you're-” Yaz’s voice says. “I need to get the Doctor.”

Graham lifts his head, putting as much strength as he can in it. “Yaz-” He speaks, voice coming out hoarse and raw. "Where-" He frowns, head falling back down again, but eyes remaining locked on her face. "What happened?"

“I need to get the Doctor.” She says again, and this time he notices her face. Eyes a bright red. Crying, or she was. Distraught and his heart rate picks up quickly as he flicks his eyes across the room.

“Yaz-” He breathes out. “Where’s-”

“The Doctor, she should-” Yaz flounders, voice hitching. “I can’t be the one to, I'm sorry Graham-” She cuts herself off with a sob, and she escapes from the room, the door shutting behind her and leaving him in a room by himself.

Graham’s stares unblinking at the ceiling as the door opens again, but he doesn’t move. Dread fills him as he remembers the events that lead him here.

They were walking and talking, smiling and happy. Ryan was telling him about what he got up on the weekend before with his dad, how he’s making an effort now. Putting in the time that he should’ve done years before.

_“We’re gonna head out again soon, Graham,” Ryan said, hands in his pockets. “You can come if you want.”_

And Graham turned to glance at him, mouth opening to speak, words ready on the tip of his tongue and then-

Brightness. Heat. A blast sending him back, and finally a boom. The last thing he saw before the world was pulled out from under his feet was Ryan and an explosion. Fire and rage rushing out and heading towards the pair of them, eating all in its path-

“Graham-”

But he ignores her, eyes searching the ceiling for answers, heart hammering in his chest. He can’t be- He isn’t. If he’s alive, then Ryan must be. He has to be. They were next to each other. Ryan is just in another room. That's it.

_“Graham-”_

Graham finally turns his attention to the Doctor, frantic eyes now searching her face as she raises the gurney that he’s on. “Doctor, tell me he’s-” Graham trails off, finding it impossible to ask if he's alive. “Please, tell me he’s okay.”

She doesn’t.

“No, no, no-” His hands clench, pain flares, but he disregards and presses them against his eyes, head shaking. “Tell me he’s alright, Doctor, tell me he's in another room, anything-”

“I can’t, Graham.”

" _Please_."

"I'm sorry-"

And he shouts out, agony ripping through him, both physical and mental. In his throat and head because he knows and he doesn’t need the Doctor to say any more than she’s already said.

Ryan is dead.

And he let it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry.


End file.
